


all in pieces

by cecilysmith



Series: all in pieces [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, M/M, suicide TW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilysmith/pseuds/cecilysmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers survived. He wished he hadn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW for suicide.

Steve Rogers could barely recall what he did in the time after Bucky Barnes' death. He'd been working on autopilot, barely aware of himself, at least on the outside.

Inside, he felt sick. Every moment of existing tortured him because  _Bucky was dead and Steve wasn't._  

When he crashed the plane, he told them there wasn't another way. In a way, he hadn't been lying. There had been opportunity for a safe landing. 

But this was Steve's only way out.

His only way to join his best friend, because what was what was his life without his best friend at his side? 

So he acted as if he had to crash the plane, because it was easier on everyone else. What would they say if they found out Captain America couldn't go on? What had happened to the American dream?

Maybe the war was over, but after everything that happened, what was Captain America without a war to fight? What was Steve Rogers without Bucky Barnes?

Steve didn't know, he didn't fucking care to find out, and he took his chance to escape. To be with his best friend. There was nothing left for him in the world.

Then, he woke up.

* * *

They gave him a room and were most definitely monitoring him constantly. Because of this, he made sure not to talk, even to himself. He rarely left the room unless an agent or Fury came for him. 

Some days he didn't even leave his bed. On those days, he'd pass out from exhaustion, his inhumanly high metabolism failing him. Every time this happened, he'd wake up in a scratchy hospital bed and some doctor would lecture him about taking care of himself and he never listened.

Why should he take care of himself? Hadn't he done enough for his country? For the world? Didn't he deserve to rest?

Apparently not.

Soon, there was Hawkeye and Iron Man and Black Widow and Thor and the Hulk. They were his friends. He told no one about his sadness. They wouldn't be able to help him, no one, nothing in the living realm could.

Bucky could.

Bucky was dead.

Steve ran every morning, still marvelling at his body that was able to take the strain of running so fast for so long. Sometimes, if he was having a particularly bad day, he ran for hours and hours until his every muscle hurt and his sorrows were drowned in exhaustion. 

The Avengers battled Loki, and Natasha murmured, "You can survive this." Because Natasha understood, at least some of it.

Steve didn't tell Natasha that he didn't want to. 

Sure, he had fun with his friends. He could enjoy himself sometimes. He still found something of a purpose in defending New York from threats they couldn't face on their own.

But at the end of the day, he was so, so fucking tired. He stopped caring about what the people who no doubt monitored him heard, because they couldn't do anything without admitting they watched his every move.

It was noon, a few weeks after the Battle of New York when it hit him. It was one of those days where he didn't have the strength to move.

He'd survived crashing a plane in the fucking ocean. He could've jumped off the train with Bucky, could have saved him. 

Could have been happy.

He loved Bucky with every fibre of his being. Bucky's death was the thing that pushed him over the edge.

And he _could have_ saved _him._

A loud sob escaped him. He curled up under the covers of his bed and sobbed and wailed, not caring who heard him, not caring that his vision was black around the edges and his head was killing him. It was nothing compared to the pain he felt inside. 

Someone knocked. Steve was too hypervigilant to not be listening for it, even over the sounds of his cries.

"Jarvis, make sure no ones gets in." He rasped.

"Of course, Captain Rogers."

The knocking grew more insistent, soon grew into shouting. It sounded like Tony at first, though now someone else, maybe Natasha had joined him. 

He stayed silent, hoping that they would leave him alone. Eventually, they did, and Steve was greeted with silence and he was _so fucking tired_.

If only he'd died with Bucky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in the mood for some angst, which I don't usually do, so tell me how I did please?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise a second chapter! So here we are.

When Steve and Sam Wilson found Bucky, Steve felt like a great weight was lifted off of his chest. As they sat silently on the quinjet back to the tower, Steve stared at him, marvelling at his new ragged appearance. Steve knew that Bucky would never be quite like he was before World War II, but it was Bucky, he had his Bucky back.

Bucky stared right back, but it wasn't happily. His eyebrows were knitted into a scowl, and his eyes betrayed no emotion. Steve shivered under the weight of Bucky's glare, feeling unsettled. How long would it take? Bucky was a killing machine. When would he be... What was it that Steve wanted from him? His best friend? Bucky didn't look like he was ready to come near Steve without a gun poised. Would he ever be back to any semblance of normal?

Steve breathed quietly, hoping Sam wouldn't catch his ragged inhales and exhales. He was supposed to be okay after they found Bucky, everything was supposed to solve itself.

Apparently, that wasn't the case.

And Steve's depression hit him all over again, because this, finding Bucky, was his last chance at happiness. Now, that might not even happen.

As soon as their quinjet landed, agents bustled in and took Bucky. Steve was surprised they succeeded; in a normal situation Bucky would be able to beat them with one hand behind his back. Then, Steve noticed the needle in one of the agents' hand.

Steve left the jet soon after the agents filed out. He knew that Fury, or someone, would want to speak to him, but he stormed back to his room. He heard Sam's shouts after him somewhere in the back of his mind, but it didn't matter.

* * *

It was months before Steve even got a glimpse of Bucky. He continued his hollow existence, because that's all it was. An existence. Not a life.

One day, there was a knock on his door. He didn't go to the door. He was sitting on his bed, unmoving. The other avengers were all out today, but he'd excused himself on the grounds of a 'meeting with Fury'. It was something he'd made up, but meetings with Fury happened so often lately that it would probably happen anyway. Almost always it was regarding Bucky. 

It was probably Fury waiting at the door. If it was, Fury would be in the room any moment. 

Nothing happened. 

If it wasn't Fury, it had to be an agent. No, if an agent came to his door and he didn't answer, they'd always talk, or ask him something through the door. Steve liked that they didn't force themselves in. He found it easier to talk through a door than face-to-face.

Steve didn't hear another knock, but he also didn't detect any footsteps walking away. If for some reason the others ahd returned early, they'd probably shout at him.

So he opened the door.

There, sitting on the floor across the hallway, hugging his knees, was Bucky. 

Steve stood frozen for a moment before beckoning him inside. He felt cold and hot at the same time, and his hands were trembling. Bucky was  _here_.

"Hi." Steve whispered once Bucky had entered the threshold. He was standing awkwardly by the door. "Sit." Steve urged, gesturing toward the bed. Bucky did so, ducking his head.

"How are you?" Steve asked shakily. He felt like Bucky was going to flicker out of existence any moment.

"Steve." Bucky whispered, raising his eyes to be level with Steve's. He stared at Steve intensely. "You..."

Steve bit his lip. "Bucky." The name felt like a prayer. "Bucky." He repeated hollowly. 

Bucky angled his body toward him. His eyes searched Steve's face, looking for something Steve couldn't fathom. "Steve, what did they do to you?"

Steve was not expecting that. "Me? Bucky, you... You were brainwashed for seventy years. I don't matter." He hadn't meant it to come out like that.

"Steve, what's wrong with you? Why aren't you..." Bucky's face looked horrified. "What happened? Is it... Is it  _me_?"

Steve narrowed is eyes. "What are you talking about? There's nothing wrong with me." Lie. "It's not you. I couldn't be happier that you're back." That was not a lie.

Bucky scowled. "Shut the hell up, Rogers." He paused. His face softened. "I knew I would be different. I know I'll never be like I used to." He paused again, looking away. "But you... I thought you were supposed to be the same."

"Bucky, I am." But the words sounded empty, even to himself. He wasn't the same.

Bucky frowned. "Who did this to you? Why?" He sounded desperate.

"No." Steve said sternly. "This is about you. Not me."

Bucky's lip curled. "Stubborn as always, Rogers." But it wasn't friendly.

Steve huffed. "I'm not talking until after you do."

Bucky scoffed. "Fine. But whoever did this to you-"

"No one did it to me!" He cut Bucky off. "I'm... Alone." 

Bucky looked like he wanted to ask more, but stayed silent. Bucky mattered more, Steve thought. He'd put off telling him until the last moment possible.

* * *

It was weeks until Steve spoke to Bucky about his depression.

"Before I talk..." Steve said uneasily, "Bucky, how could you tell?"

"It's not hard." Bucky replied.

"It is." Steve retorted. "I've been hiding it from the others since I thawed out."

"And they have no idea?"

"They don't know a thing."

Bucky's face was murderous. Before this could escalate, Steve cried, "But! I'm talking now. So it might get better, Buck."

"So talk." Bucky said impassively, a mighty change from his mood just seconds before. 

"I..." He had no idea where to start. "It started when you died. Fell off the train. 'S why I crashed the plane, Buck." He paused. "I've never told anyone about that before."

Bucky froze. "This is... My fault?"

"No!" Steve cried. "No, Buck. No. I mean, it may have started out that way, but... I was happy. To just go down with the plane, be done with my life. Then they woke me up. Even if I was completely fine before, waking up seventy years into the future would have reduced me to the mess I am anyway. Didn't help that I didn't want to wake up. I just wanted, want, peace, Buck. They took that away from me. 

"Sometimes, Buck, the only reason I didn't just walk off the roof of the tower was you. I couldn't die when you were still out there.

"So I pretend I'm okay and no one ever sees past the facade. Not even Sam the therapist, not even Natasha the superspy. Only you, Buck."

Bucky frowned. "Steve. All this time?"

Steve hadn't really described it really well, but Bucky understood anyway.

"I think it's gonna be better. With you, I mean."

"I'll make sure of it, punk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I'm gonna make this into a series and do a third little part that's a bit fluffier than this.


End file.
